


Beyond us

by RogueLioness



Series: Fuckuary 2021 [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mild Angst, NSFW, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29846805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueLioness/pseuds/RogueLioness
Summary: Day 8: Neria Lavellan x SolasOutdoor sex
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age)
Series: Fuckuary 2021 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194248
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Beyond us

It is raining in the Nahasin Marshes, something that should not surprise Neria as much as it does. Though the dense canopy provides some amount of shelter, it does not provide warmth, and despite the fact that she’s seated on a glyph of warmth and has her oilskin coat wrapped snug around her, she still shivers. She can hear Thom’s loud snores from his tent, the rustle of Harding’s bedroll as the dwarf rolls around in her sleep.

The veilfire is her only company. Its flickering light casts eerie shadows that dance amidst the trees, mocking and mourning her in turn. Neria reaches to absently scratches at her elbow, above where her silverite prosthetic rests. It aches tonight, the humidity making it feel heavier than it is, and she thinks she feels the lingering ghosts of the Anchor spark within her.

She sighs and shifts, staring off into the distance. It will be several days before they reach the Tirashan, but she is already tired. What hope does she, a crippled shadow of a person, have of stopping the Dread Wolf? Solas has the advantage of knowledge and power, and he has eluvians to aid his travel. What is she doing here in this forsaken part of Thedas?

This is the only time of day she will indulge in these thoughts, where there is no risk of being overheard. The only time she will let herself wallow in self-pity, even if it isn’t good for her. The only time she will acknowledge the painful throb of her aching heart-

A low howl from deep within the trees has her tensing. She turns towards the sound, straining to see if there’s something in the woods - a predator, perhaps, or a spy. 

There’s another howl, long, soft… _mournful_.

Neria pulls her staff closer to her, uses its help to stand. She slowly makes her way to the perimeter of their little camp before gathering a small wisp of veilfire in the palm of her hand, and sends it off in the direction of the sound. It darts between branches and leaves, the pale green light illuminating the raindrops covering them, and she begins to relax-

A flash of red eyes.

She inhales sharply, takes a step backward, blinks. It’s still there, the white wolf from her dreams, and her heart starts to thunder against her ribs- _what is he doing here, how did he find me, what does he want_. She looks over her shoulder at her sleeping companions, debating whether or not to wake them, then decides against it.

She has seen Solas turn living men to stone. If he were truly here with malicious motives, what chance do they have of stilling his hand?

Instead, she makes her way towards the creature, having to shield her eyes against the blinding light as Solas shifts to the form most familiar to her. He’s unsmiling, the muscle at the hinge of his jaw taut, eyes flicking towards her staff for a brief second before they return to her. She rests it against the broad trunk of a broad white oak, trying not to let the tremble in her hand show, knowing he sees it anyway.

And then she turns to him. 

He is close, closer than he’s been for years (save that one time when he killed a part of her with truth), and she knows if she reaches out, she can touch him. They stare at each other for what feels like a lifetime. His eyes are cautious, wary, a brittle hardness to them, and the bags under his eyes are more pronounced than she’s ever known them to be. Power rolls off him in waves, lending a static to her hair, but all she sees is the way his shoulders are slumped, the exhaustion around the corners of his mouth.

“You’ve not been sleeping well,” she says, breaking the charged silence between them.

He exhales. It’s a shaky sound, but it drives the caution from his eyes, fills them instead with something softer. “No,” he agrees. “It has been- difficult.” She knows what he means. Ever since she started drinking the tea that would cloak her dreams, she has worried about him. She had not, however, imagined he felt the same way.

“How did you find me?” she asks, slowly reaching out to adjust the collar of his coat, giving him ample time to pull away if he chose to.

He doesn’t. “One of my people saw you in the village,” he says, the smallest of smiles lifting his lips. “I surmised you would be headed in this direction.”

Her hand is on his cheek now, and he leans into the caress, his eyes fluttering shut. “And you decided to come and check up on me.” 

It is a statement, not a question, but he answers it anyway. “I was concerned,” his breath warms her wrist. 

“So,” she tries to smile, but fails, “if I miss you, I must continue to live with it, but if you miss me, then you hunt me down?”

His face falls imperceptibly, and a shutter slams down over his eyes. “I will leave, if that is what you wish,” he says stiffly.

“You know that’s not what I want, Solas,” she says gently. He shudders at the use of his name, and she wonders, with no small amount of concern, just what he has been doing that has left him this way, so stripped and raw.

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he says, fingers wrapping around her wrist to keep her hand in place, as though he’s terrified she’ll deprive him of the touch. “I have missed you,” the confession is dragged out of him, said in such a low whisper she only just catches it.

“Oh, _ma lath_.” She steps towards him, wraps her free arm around his waist, settles her head against his shoulder. “I have not stopped missing you.” He makes a choked sound, a hitched sob, and then his arms are around her, tight and unyielding, fingers spanning the breadth of her back as he buries his head into the crook of her neck. She feels her eyes prick with a tell-tale heat, feels tears spill over the rim to mingle with the drops of rain on her face, diluting the salt the way his presence is diminishing the pain in her always-aching heart.

Solas frames her face between his broad, elegant hands, capturing her mouth in a hard, desperate kiss, tongue stroking the seam of her lips. She opens to him, eager, the taste of him - elfroot and mint and power - flooding across her tongue, making her moan with relief and pleasure as she savors the sensation of his lips against hers.

It had been so long. She has spent too many nights alone, heart sick and sore with the absence of him. “Solas,” she breathes against his lips. “ _Vhenan_. Don’t go, not yet. Please.”

His gaze is soft and yearning and adoring and conflicted and a hundred other emotions she cannot name, but he smiles down at her, a full, genuine one. “I will stay for as long as I am able,” his gaze flicks to where she’s made camp. “We will have to be quiet.”

Neria’s eyes close as the familiar feel of his barrier washes over her once more, lips quirking when no more rain pelts her skin. There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and his hands glow a golden blue before she’s entirely dry. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Solas says nothing, only keeps looking at her with- she wants to say disbelief, but it cannot be, she does not deserve that gaze, she is no goddess, only a humble mortal - and yet he looks at her as though she is every star in the night sky taken form. Rising on her toes, she presses her mouth to his again briefly before she lets her lips count the freckles that are scattered across his cheeks and nose.

He groans, tugs at her coat even as she fists her hands in his. Neria lifts her gaze to his. “I want-” he breathes, searching her face for any hesitation, “will you-” He looks like he expects her to banish him, muscles tense and primed for her refusal. She sighs, shakes her head, hurting that he does not believe her love to be real. “ _Ar lath ma_ ,” she reminds him, and that disbelief takes over in his eyes, brings a frown to his brows. She says nothing more, instead starts to undo her coat, her movements jerky and rough thanks to the stiffness of the prosthetic.

“May I?” he asks quietly. She nods, and he takes over the task, carefully, gently, reverentially helping her out of her clothing, meticulously folding each one before placing it on the part of the ground dried from his magic. She has a moment of shame, a moment where she wants to fold in and hide herself from his gaze when it lands on the silverite attachment, but she forces herself to stand tall. This is the reality of her, the result of all that’s happened, and she will not let either of them shy away from it. His fingers hover over the prosthetic, the smallest of trembles to them, and he looks to her for permission. She nods, a thick clog of fear caught in her throat. She is- she is altered, no longer the woman he fell in love with, and she cannot help but wonder if the sight of the artificial construct will make him turn away.

Solas stares at it for a few seconds longer, before slowly, cautiously placing his fingers on it. Neria twitches at the sensation, registering his touch on the appendage for the first time, and it brings fresh tears to her eyes - though she blinks them away before he can see. He treats it as though it were any other part of her, though his face is heavy with sorrow and brow is flattened with shame.

“Ingenious,” he traces the lines of lyrium embedded into the metal, looking up at her with a small smile. “Dagna?”

“Dagna,” she confirms.

“Does it hurt?” he asks in a low voice, guilt thick on every syllable.

“Sometimes.” She will not lie to spare him. “It is the price I have to pay.” 

He makes a soft, choked sound of distress, his touching the tempered metal as though he were touching a robin’s broken wing, and murmurs, “You should not have had to,” but she ignores it. What is done, is done. She cannot afford to waste any time moaning the past, and she refuses to spend what limited time she has with him wallowing in regret.

“Solas. How is it fair that you have all your clothes on?” she arches a brow.

He huffs a laugh, but disrobes, discarding his clothes carelessly to the side before reaching out for her, his hands heavy on her hips. “Are you certain you want this,” he asks quietly, his gaze intense.

“I’ve dreamed of you for so many nights,” she doesn’t care if her admission makes her sound pitiful. All that matters is how it makes his face brighten. “I want you.”

He kisses her then, hard and deep, and her knees buckle with the force of his need. He is relentless, his hands tracing the length of her jaw, fingers stroking up the bladed edge of her ear, running down her neck to map the shape of her shoulders. She moans into his mouth, rakes her nails down his sides and makes him shudder, makes his fingers dig into her skin.

Neria re-learns the placement of freckles across his chest, touching her tongue to each, trying not to show her dismay at the few new scars he’s sporting and instead focusing on how warm he is, the softness of his skin, the scent of him, mapping out his skin, marking it to memory for all the nights she will be alone and lonely and yearning for him.

Solas stills her fingers, then walks with her till her back is pressed against the relatively smooth bark of a maple, its sweet smell mixing with the scent of petrichor and filling her lungs. He kisses her lightly, lazily, then turns his attention to the rest of her, mouth suckling a bruise in the hollow of her clavicle on the side of her breasts, places where only she will know it exists - and she accepts those marks, presses his teeth harder into her skin, revels in the sting. His hand cups her breast, thumb flicking the beaded tip, sending heat straight to her core, causing arousal to slick her folds. Neria whines, the sound rising into the trees, digs her nails into his shoulders to leave marks of her own, making him hiss though he doesn’t pull away.

His touch is frantic, desperate, fraught with the knowledge that they lack time, but it’s clear he still knows how to play her body, knows how to spark and stoke the heat within her till it’s a blazing inferno, till she’s weak and trembling with the depth of her arousal. He drops to his knees, parting her folds with his thumbs before he leans in to lick a broad stripe from entrance to clit - and Neria has to bite down on the meat of her palm to keep herself from crying out. He laps at her greedily, without hurry, his the flat of his tongue meticulously rubbing against her clit before sliding into her core, making her even more desperate for other parts of him. She feels her face heat up, feels her skin get sticky with sweat; her thighs and legs tremble as the pleasure builds within her, familiar and so welcome; she feels him smile against her, and she’s about to say something but he presses his fingers into her and drives every thought clean out of her mind. He presses against the front of her walls, finding the spot he’s looking almost instantly - and then his tongue resumes its stroking of her clit. She’s chanting his name, she distantly registers, and thinks she should be ashamed at how needy she sounds - but instead it makes Solas wrap his lips around the bundle of nerves, and his teeth graze against it, ever-so-lightly, as he sucks - and that bit of sharpness, combined with the thick, syrupy pleasure, has her peaking, her hips grinding and rutting against his face.

She’s panting as she looks at him, breathless and near-boneless, and he rises to his feet, face fond but smug. She kisses him, the taste of her on his lips, and one hand reaches down to stroke his cock. He’s already hard, throbbing against her skin, and the feel of him makes her core clench.

“I want to feel you,” she lifts a leg to wrap around his waist. “Please.”

“Neria,” he whispers against her mouth, “ _vhenan_ .” He takes her hand from his length and places it on his shoulder, coats himself liberally in her slick - the sensation, against her overstimulated flesh making her whimper - and guides himself into her slowly, evenly, his gaze never leaving hers as he hilts to the root. Solas groans, forehead pressed against hers, then takes in a shaky breath. Neria revels in the feel of him flush against her, his skin so warm against hers, shivers with how full and _whole_ she feels. The love she has for him, that treasured thing in her chest, swells and expands until it fills the entirety of her, then seeps out of her to coat him.

His eyes are damp. He touches trembling fingers to her cheek, and when they tremble all the more, she knows he feels it.

She wraps her arms around his neck and rolls her hips, a soft smile on her lips. He breathes in shakily, touches his mouth to her tenderly, then starts to move. Soft, shallow thrusts, letting her adjust to him, letting them both get re-acquainted with how perfectly they fit together. Two halves, whole once more, and she does not think she can tell where she ends and he begins. His hand cups her jaw, angles it to kiss her better, sweeter, longer. He lifts her thighs, holding her in place against the tree before he changes his rhythm from tentative to sure, deep, scooping thrusts that grind his pelvis against her clit, pleasure on top of pleasure. 

“ _Ar lath ma_ ,” she whispers into his ear as he slams himself into her over and over, as he bends to suckle at a pert nipple, as his body shudders with the force of keeping his own climax at bay - and she knows him well enough to know he wants desperately for them to fall together off the cliff, and so she lets go of him - unwillingly - to strum her fingers across her clit. Her wall clench around him, and the groan he makes - needy, more whine than grunt - is music to her ears. 

Solas is murmuring to her, and she catches only scattered fragments of the elven pouring from him - _my love, heart’s desire, you feel so good_ \- and the sound of his voice, the cadence of the words, the strength of emotion they carry triggers her climax, and she muffles her cry by biting into his shoulder, marking him, moaning his name against his skin as she falls from the peak, her vision whiting with pleasure. Dimly, she watches as Solas finds his own end, head thrown back, jaw clenched, teeth gritted, tendons jutting out in sharp relief, hips juddering as he spends into her. His face is flushed red, his breathing heavy, and there is nothing but soft devotion in his eyes as he looks at her. They remain as they are for several moments, joined together in intimacy both of body and mind, till he softens and finally pulls out. He tears off a piece of his tunic and offers it to her, and she accepts it with a blush and uses it to clean herself. He steps to her, cradles her face. _“Ar lath ma_ ,” he whispers. “Always.”

“I know,” she tries to smile, but she can’t. She knows he will leave, that she has not swayed him, but cannot bring herself to regret what they shared. They dress in silence, each unable to look away from the other. Solas adjusts her coat, ensuring that no part of her skin is exposed, and she fixes a button he’s missed, her hand coming to rest over his heart. “ _Var lath vir suledin,_ ” she murmurs, gazing at him.

His smile is small and sad. He kisses her palm, and then her wrist, and when he kisses her forehead she knows he will leave.

Neria turns and returns to camp. This time, she will let him watch her walk away. 


End file.
